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Seven years old

B ailey is being extra annoying today. She has been begging me to push her on the swing since we got to the park, but I want to play tag.

“Come on, Hayes. I want to swing. Pretty please.”

She bats those green eyes at me. It only makes me roll my eyes. We always do what Bailey wants to do. It’s not that I don’t like making her happy, but I really want to play tag. Dad always says we can’t always give in, otherwise, we will be walked all over. I don’t want anyone walking on me.

“Bailey, can’t we do what I want for once? We always do what you wanna do.”

“I’m in a dress. If we play tag, I will get hurt, or one of your friends will say something about seeing up my dress. You know I hate that.”

I frown. She’s right about that. I’ve beat up more than one of my friends for making inappropriate comments about Bailey. We are still kids. She shouldn’t be objectified that way.

That’s not the neighborhood we live in, though. You have to grow up quickly. Too quick if you ask me.

Bailey is still innocent, though. I’m trying to protect that as long as I can.

“Bails.” I grab her shoulders. “I won’t let them do that to you. You know if they do, I will make them shut up.”

“I don’t want to. I want to swing.”

“I want to play tag.” I stand my ground.

“You go do what you want. I’ll find someone else to push me on the swing then.” She folds her arms, stomping her feet as she walks away.

She keeps looking back at me, though. She is acting tough, but she is really shy. She doesn’t like talking to other kids. The only reason we are even friends is because she lives next door. Her mom and my mom make us play together all the time. It is annoying, but Bailey needs me. As much as she gets on my nerves, I want to be there for her.

I watch as she approaches the swings. She’s being more careful now. She’s looking around like she’s hoping someone will pop up to save her from embarrassment. As much as she is shy, she is stubborn. She doesn’t want to turn around and face me.

I sigh, deciding that I don’t want her to cry, so I better go push her on the swing.

Only, when I look up at her again, she isn’t alone.

A boy is standing by her. I can’t hear what they are saying, but he is making her smile. She is laughing even.

Suddenly, anger fills my gut. How dare he think he can talk to her? She isn’t his to play with. She is mine. I don’t share what is mine.

I watch a moment longer, waiting for her to tell him to piss off, only she doesn’t. Instead, she shoots a smirk my way before climbing on the swing. Then he starts pushing her.

Each time he touches her, it only builds the anger inside of me.

She probably would like him more. He looks fancy. He has on a crisp, clean button-down and khaki shorts while I’m in jeans and an old, holey T-shirt. He screams wealth.

He also screams weakness. He would never protect her. He won’t hold her hand as she cries about a skinned knee. There’s no way he would step in front of a snarling dog like I did last week for Bailey. Got two puncture wounds on my ankle because of it.

No, he doesn’t deserve her.

My blood feels like it is boiling with every single step that I take toward them. She’s smiling. She looks happy even.

I should be happy. She is happy and out of my hair.

Instead, I feel like something is tearing at my insides. I do not like this boy. We don’t even know who he is. She knows better than to talk to strangers.

This is why she needs me. She would get kidnapped for sure if only the person had a cute puppy.

She needs my protection.

When I make it close enough, Bailey spots me.

“Look, Hayesey. I’m flying.”

Her smile is short-lived. As she flies above my head, I sprint to the boy, tackling him to the ground.

“Hayes,” Bailey gasps, her feet trying to slow herself down enough for her to safely get off of the swing.

I don’t hesitate. My fists start punching the boy as soon as I have him trapped beneath me. Just like I thought, he doesn’t even fight back. He holds his hands up to his face, trying to protect himself from me.

He doesn’t do a good job.

By the time a crowd is formed around us, he is bloody and crying.

Bailey grabs my shoulder, which is the only reason I stop. She’s crying.

Standing from the boy, I spit on him. “Don’t touch my fucking girl,” I tell him.

He moans while parents begin to run our way.

“Why did you do that? I’m not your girl. Not if you act like that,” she sobs.

“You are mine. Now you wanted to swing, get on the swing. Quickly.”

She does as I ask, and I start pushing her. She isn’t smiling, but she’s stopped crying.

“You can’t bully everyone,” she tells me.

I shrug. “I can if I want to.”

Honestly, if it’s for her, I think I would bully anyone. I would do anything to keep her safe. She’s mine to protect, even if she annoys the hell out of me.

“Who did this to my boy?” I hear a woman scream out.

I smirk, already knowing everyone will point her toward me.

When I turn to look, I’m right. Everyone is looking my way while her boy points to me.

“You are a little savage. Wait until I tell your mother what you did.” The woman stomps off with her son toward the other parents.

She is going to be sorely disappointed. There isn’t one there for me.

“Can we go home now?” Bailey asks.

“Of course.”

I help her off of the swing and take her hand in mine. As we walk home, I look back at the park.

That’s not the first boy I’ve beat up for Bailey Watts, and I doubt he will be my last either.